I’m a great believer in procrastination but I’m trying to get better. Who wouldn’t rather read a book or do anything but wash dishes? Drinking a beer while watching a movie is preferable to disposing of the junk piling up in my unused dining room. My stack of unsorted mail grows with every delivery.
My parents always said I was lazy and I can’t dispute that. Every time I drive up and see the unpainted fascia and moss-stained brick on my house I wince. Walk the dog, come in the back yard and there it is, a huge pile of crap waiting for a junk tag from the city to motivate me. This accretion of possibly usable stuff is a side effect of meth addiction. Hey! This might come in handy someday and I won’t have to buy it because it’s in a drawer or box or closet somewhere!
Late May of 2020 will be my one-year anniversary of being clean. I wanted to say sober but that wouldn’t be true. Before I began putting a needle in my arm damned near every day (and sometimes more than once a day), I drank quite a bit. Now that I’m off meth I’m drinking again.
Bad, bad, bad idea. Some people might think that’s okay but it’s not. Booze may not be against the law but it’s addictive and hard on the entire body. You won’t hear me trying to justify my consumption. I can’t. I know I’m an addict and what always seems to be a good idea at the time never is when it comes to substance abuse. The first week off meth had me eyeing the cold beer case at the neighborhood Walmart store. I chose the super-duper variety pack of Mike’s Hard Lemonade and ignored that little voice inside that said, “Aw, shit! Here we go again!”
As I sit and drink one or two or three beers and watch endless, but funny, videos of birds and cats on YouTube my house is falling apart. There’s a verse in the bible that says “by idleness of hands a house droppeth through.” Literally. The floor in front of my refrigerator got soft from a leak and now the tile floor has peeled away and the wood floor is flaking.
Getting off your duff and back into the real world is essential for every recovering addict. To put it in the vernacular, you just got to do it . It moves you away from the drug of choice and back to what you really need to be doing besides getting stoned. Despite my drinking, and while I am, I’ve forced myself to be more sociable, go to the gym, clean the house and continue writing. I don’t miss the meth, much, and I don’t drink at work. On my days off is another story.
Sarah Evans wrote a very good post on WordPress, Addiction’s Seismic Effects On The Family. I looked high and low for a place to comment on it because her heartbreak and love for her son is so clear. I wanted to tell her, as an addict, there’s nothing she can do to make it all better. She, her husband and the boy’s sister have done nothing wrong. They didn’t miss something somewhere along the way. It’s all on Sam. He’s the one walking on fire and he’ll be the one to determine when he’s tired of burning his feet. All you can do is continue to love him, even if you have to put him out of your life.
This I know: if I can stop a thirty-five year needle addiction I can quit drinking one day, too. Pray for me. Pray for the family of Ms. Evans.